


Sniff, Sniff

by SushiOwl



Series: Assorted Scenes [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nudity, Pre-Slash, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek takes what he wants, and that includes Stiles's clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniff, Sniff

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).

Stiles was in the middle of a very important mystical beast battle when he heard his window open. He turned to look and found Derek perched on his window sill, bruised and bloody and looking pissed. The fact that Stiles wasn't at all surprised to see him looking like that was a testament to the new normalcy of his life. 

"Uh, hi," Stiles said as he lowered his headphones to his shoulders. He managed to lift his eyes from the shirt that was hanging off Derek's body in strips to the man's eyes.

"I need your shower," Derek said gruffly, dropping off the window sill and starting to toe off his shoes. "And a new shirt."

"Don't you have your own shower?" Stiles asked as his eyes were again drawn to the shirt as Derek took handfuls of it and ripped it off. "And your own shirts?" There was blood splattered along Derek's side, and Stiles couldn't tell if the wound was still open or not.

Derek just gave him a look that possibly said 'shut up, Stiles' or 'I do what I want, Stiles' or maybe even 'make me a sandwich, Stiles.' Honestly all of his broody facial expressions had a similar eyebrow scrunch to them. Derek just balled up the ruined shirt and tossed it across the room into the trash without looking, before heading to the bathroom.

Stiles turned his chair and watched him, his eyes zeroing in on the way Derek was already undoing his pants. "Okay, then I'll just leave you to..." The words died in Stiles's throat as Derek dropped his pants before he reached the bathroom, and he got an eyeful of naked werewolf ass before it disappeared through the door. "...it," Stiles finished after a full minute of stunned silence.

So. Derek didn't wear underwear. That was a fact he never knew he wanted to know.

Stiles sat there, stunned for a long, long time, the only sounds being the shower running and the dramatic death of his battle character filtering up through his headphones. He had a thought, and it felt rather far away. Did Derek use towels? Or was he going to march out naked and dripping?

When the door to the bathroom opened again, Stiles got a flash of a thick, meaty thigh and a thick, meaty something else before he jerked his gaze to the ceiling, face burning. "Oh God," he choked out, his mouth dry and throat clogged. He continued to stare up as he listened to Derek rummage around in his drawers.

Stiles hazarded a glance at the werewolf and was—well, he was supposed to be relieved, but he was actually kind of disappointed to find that Derek had his pants on. They were hanging low on his hips, showing just a bit more than nature intended. There was no sign of blood, so Derek must have healed his wounds in the shower. Stiles moved his eyes up, watching the triskele tattoo's swirls shift as Derek's back muscles moved. Then it disappeared under the stretched fabric of a shirt that was far too small for Derek.

"Haven't we already done this?" Stiles asked, jerking his eyes to Derek's face as the shirt was pulled off and Derek tossed it to the ground. "You already know that my shirts don't fit." Derek just turned his eyes to Stiles as he extracted another shirt from the drawer and did a weird little snuffle sniff against the fabric. "They're clean, I promise," Stiles said, crossing his arms as Derek pulled that shirt on too.

Derek went through all of Stiles's shirts, sniffing and rubbing his cheek against the fabric before trying them on. The last shirt he found was an old grey Henley, which he apparently decided was acceptable, because he kept it. Stiles watched him march over to the window, tug on his shoes then vanish like the mysterious wolf he was.

The floor of his bedroom looked like the menswear section of Macy's vomited all over it.

"Thanks, jerk," Stiles grumbled as he got up to clean up the shirts. They were still clean, if a bit rumpled, so he just returned them to the drawers.

The next day when he got to school, Scott was walking toward him, and he was ready to greet his best from when Scott stopped a few feet away, his nostrils flaring eyes going wide. Scott took a step back, then another, staring at him like Stiles had contracted a disease and Scott was afraid he was going to get it.

"What?" Stiles asked.

"You smell like Derek," Scott said, and when Stiles tilted his head at him, face a vision of confusion, Scott elaborated. "Like, he's staked a...claim..."

Stiles stared, left eye twitching as he recalled all the sniffing and the face rubbing Derek had done against his clothes. He thought the man was just being a weird and picky wolf since the full moon was only a couple days away. But suddenly he realized what it really was.

Scent marking!

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt on Tumblr. If you ever want to write an idea, [hit me up.](http://thesushiowl.tumblr.com/post/60489708862/give-me-tw-prompts)


End file.
